


Trouble Sleeping

by yalublyutebya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bromance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville, Friendship, Gen, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yalublyutebya/pseuds/yalublyutebya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After facing off with the Hound and seeing Bob Franklin blown to pieces, Lestrade knows he isn't going to sleep very well. It seems John is in the same boat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ficsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsa/gifts).



> This was a Christmas present for ficsa, who asked for John + Lestrade, alcohol, and fluff.

It's getting late by the time they are allowed to leave Dewer's Hollow. They've given brief statements - just enough to give the local police a rough outline of what happened - and have been checked over by a rather bored-looking paramedic. A team from Baskerville are still cautiously removing pieces of Bob Frankland from the minefield. This is one scene Greg Lestrade is more than happy to walk away from.

Greg follows Sherlock and John back to the Cross Keys. He's got a room in a hotel just down the road, but he's not quite ready to go back to his empty room yet. The events of the evening have, unsurprisingly, left him a bit shaken up. 

They park up outside the pub and head inside. Sherlock is all talk now that the case has been solved, trilling about how brilliantly complex it's been. Greg exchanges a look with John, who just rolls his eyes and smiles fondly. Sherlock then makes some comment about having to write his notes up straight away, and disappears upstairs.

"God, he never changes, does he?" Greg comments.

"Nope."

They share a smile, and then John nods towards the bar area. "Fancy a nightcap?"

"God yes."

They get drinks - strong ones for both of them - and settle by the fire. They sit in silence for a while, sipping occasionally at their drinks. Greg doesn't know about John, but he's still trying to process the night's madness.

"So," John eventually says, breaking the silence. "It was Mycroft that sent you, wasn't it?"

"'Course it bloody was. Why else would I be here? I wanted to get back to work."

"Holiday didn't go too well then?" John asks with a sympathetic look.

"It went well in so far as we finally acknowledged that we just can't save our marriage."

"Oh, shit, I'm really sorry to hear that, Greg."

Greg gives an awkward half-hearted shrug. "About time we realised it, I suppose."

John smiles sadly.

"What about you?" Greg asks.

"What about me?"

"Well, it's been a while since you were seeing anyone."

"Are you surprised? You've met Sherlock, right?"

"What's Sherlock got to do with anything?"

"Exactly!"

Greg chuckles and John gives him a wry smile. 

"Sorry to interrupt," a voice says, and they look round to see one of the owners hovering somewhat awkwardly. "We're shutting up in about five minutes."

John glances at his watch. "Is it that time already? Yeah, alright. Thanks, Gary."

Gary disappears and John turns back towards Greg. "Have you got a place to stay?"

"Yeah, just up the road. I suppose I'd better be heading off."

John must hear the reluctance in his voice because he frowns, before speaking up softly. "There's a sofa in my room, if you want to kip there? Save you driving back in the dark."

"No, it's fine."

"No, really. You shouldn't be alone anyway. Who knows what after-effects that gas might have."

It's something of a poor excuse and Greg wonders if John is just as loath to be alone as he is.

"Yeah, alright. Can't really be arsed to drive back anyway."

John smiles and then turns slightly to contemplate the bar. "I reckon I could probably persuade Gary to let us take a bottle of something upstairs."

"Planning on getting drunk?"

John swings back round to look at him, then swallows hard and looks off to the side. "Might need it to get to sleep tonight."

Now that Greg is looking properly, he sees that John is more ill at ease than he might have thought, given his military experience. He doesn't ask though - it's not a topic John has ever brought up - and instead gets to his feet.

"I fancy a good whisky, don't know about you?"

They wander over to the bar, where Gary is only too happy to give them a large bottle of whisky, on the house, in return for their hard work. Once they've sorted that, they head upstairs.

John's room is at the end of a long, narrow corridor, right up in the eaves. There is a light coming from under the door next to it, and the low murmur of a man's voice. A familiar man's voice.

They share a look of amusement, then John moves on to unlock the door to his own room. He throws the door wide and, after feeling around for the light-switch, flips it on. The bulb throws pale light over a small but comfortable room, complete with a single bed and a small sofa, and a door off to what must be the bathroom. 

"Come on in," John says, peeling off his jacket and throwing it on the end of the bed. 

Greg shuts the door behind him and slips out of his own jacket, hanging it over a chair. John is already opening up the bottle of whisky, and the scent soon fills the small room.

There are no glasses in the room so John ends up using the mugs provided for tea. He pours them both a generous shot, then hands one cup to Greg with a smile.

"Bottoms up."

Greg raises his cup in a mock toast, then takes a mouthful of his drink, the liquid burning a path down his throat. It's been a while since he's indulged like this. He settles on the sofa and twirls the liquid around in the mug. John sets the bottle down on the small dressing table and sits on the nearby chair, leaning back with a slight sigh. Greg can practically see the tension draining out of him and he smiles, taking another sip of his own drink.

*

Several mugfuls later, they are both edging over into tipsy. 

"Come on," Greg says, passing the bottle back to John, their cups lying abandoned on the floor. "Tell me the truth about you and Sherlock."

It's something he's long wondered about, and he's not above using John's current state to get the information.

"He's bonkers," John quips. "And an arse. And sometimes I just want to throttle the bastard... But he's my friend. My best friend."

When Greg gives him an arch look, John adds: "And nothing more."

"You know what I think?" Greg says contemplatively.

"What?"

"I think you're just as bonkers as he is."

For a moment, John looks surprised, but then he laughs. "Yeah, I reckon I am."

Greg grins back and a comfortable silence settles over them. John takes another long swig from the bottle.

"I don't think I've ever seen you properly drunk," Greg muses out loud.

"I'm barely getting started." John looks uncomfortable for a brief moment, then he speaks up again. "Just enough to take the edge off."

"Live a little," Greg teases him, taking the bottle and throwing his head back as he swallows several large mouthfuls.

John shakes his head in amusement. "I don't think that's allowed round this way. I think they've had enough drama to last a decade or so."

Greg snorts. "Makes you miss London, doesn't it?"

"God yes." 

There is a faint crash from next door and John rolls his eyes. "Plus, London's the only place big enough to contain Sherlock Holmes."

"Are you kidding me? Even London struggles."

John laughs. 

"Seriously, I don't know how you put up with him all the time."

John shrugs and gives him a lopsided smile. "Helps to have some sane people to talk to every now and again."

"I'll drink to that," Greg says with a smile, drinking from the bottle and then handing it back to John.

"To sanity," John toasts, downing a large mouthful of whisky. 

"To good friends."

They share a smile. 

"So," John says after a moment. "You and Lisa..."

Greg grimaces. "Yeah."

"You're definitely splitting up then?"

Greg looks down at his hands, twisting them together. "I think so. That's what she wants, anyway."

"And you?"

"I've tried to make it work time and time again, but... I don't know... I'm just tired of it. It's probably best for everyone if we go our separate ways. Thank God we haven't got kids."

He looks up to find John watching him, sympathy etched into his features.

"To be honest, the past couple of years have been crap anyway," Greg admits. "Probably why she was going elsewhere."

He clears his throat awkwardly. There is a moment of tense silence, and then John speaks up again, his tone deliberately light.

"Well... plenty more fish in the sea, and all that. The ladies love a policeman, so I'm told."

"Ha."

"Tell you what, you say the word and we'll go out on the pull, me and you."

"I don't think I even remember how. Me and Lisa have been together for fifteen years."

"Just like riding a bike," John quips, grinning.

"Well, shit, I don't remember how to do that either."

They both laugh, far more than the comment deserves, and Greg suspects that might be the alcohol getting to work.

"I think I'm off women for now," he declares.

"Men, then?" John asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Not something that really floats my boat... Not that there's anything wrong with it, of course." Greg gives a cheeky smile. "And if you want to go shagging Sherlock six ways from Sunday, I'm saying nothing."

"You dick," John gets out, trying not to laugh. 

"Each to his own," Greg continues with an unabashed smile. "You're into mad geniuses with girly hair, that's fine."

John rolls his eyes, but he ends up letting out a little chuckle anyway. "You're a complete arse."

"Worse than him?" Greg jokes, pointing towards Sherlock's room.

"Yeah, alright, not as bad as him. But you're still an arse."

"Does this mean I can't kip on your sofa?" Greg says playfully.

"Yeah, go sleep out in your car, you bastard."

Just then, the door to John's room flies open and Sherlock appears, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and hair all over the place.

"John, where's my green notebook?"

"See?" John appeals to Greg. "This is why I can't keep a girlfriend for more than five minutes. I could've been in here with a woman and he still would have barged in."

Sherlock gives an exaggerated sigh and rolls his eyes. "You're drunk. How puerile."

"Not nearly drunk enough to put up with your crap," John mumbles. "Have you tried looking in the bedside table in your room?"

"Of course."

"Suitcase?"

"Yes!"

"Well then I don't know."

Sherlock scoffs and then whirls round and leaves the room again, the door falling shut behind him. John looks over at Greg and gestures towards the door.

"Yeah, because anybody would want to shag that."

They burst out laughing simultaneously, John's faintly high-pitched giggle joining Greg's low chuckle. 

*

The bottle is empty, it's creeping into the early hours of the morning and, despite their constant yawns, neither of them makes any move to settle down for the night. John is sitting on the bed now, though, propped up against the headboard. Greg is stretched out on the sofa, stockinged feet pressing against the end. If he does get any sleep tonight, it's not going to be very comfortable.

"I would've thought you'd be at home with all those military bods at Baskerville," Greg points out.

"The Army feels like a lifetime ago now."

"Didn't realise living with Sherlock was such a drag."

John lets out a faint huff of laughter. "Just the opposite."

"Do you miss it though?" Lestrade turns his head to look over at John.

John gives a faint shrug, staring up at the ceiling. "Sometimes."

He says nothing more and Greg lets the subject drop. He yawns loudly and rubs his hand over his eyes.

"Don't need to stay up on my account," John says quietly. "I probably won't sleep much tonight anyway."

Before he can stop himself, Greg asks: "Nightmares?"

John's eyes flick to his, and then away again. "Yeah."

"Pretty dramatic day today," Greg reasons. "Enough to give anyone a restless night."

John hums vaguely in acknowledgement.

"I'll be here," Greg says awkwardly. "If you did want to sleep."

"No, I'm fine. Honest."

Greg doesn't believe a word of it, but doesn't say so. He shifts onto his side, pulling his jacket over himself. 

"So... Did you catch the Spurs game at the weekend?"

He watches as John shifts down on his pillow, making himself more comfortable.

"More of a rugby man, myself."

"Who's your money on for the Six Nations then? Day after tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I reckon Wales are probably going to get it this year."

"Hmm."

"You?"

"Well, family loyalties would make me say England. Or France. But I think you might be right about Wales."

"We'll see."

They settle into a comfortable silence and Greg lets out another long yawn. 

*

Greg must fall asleep at some point because he is woken by the sound of a choked moan. He's always been a light sleeper anyway, and it takes him a few moments to realise that the noise had come from John.

He can only just about make out John's outline in the dark, but he can hear him moving around restlessly. He's breathing heavily - enough that Greg can easily hear him across the room - and then he lets out another low, pained noise.

Greg is on his feet a second later, inching closer to the bed, but he doesn't know how to proceed. He can never remember if it's better to wake someone from a nightmare, or leave them. Before he can make a decision, John jolts awake, making a short, abrupt move towards sitting up. His eyes - what Greg can see of them in the darkness - are flicking all over the place, his chest heaving with harsh breaths.

"It's alright," Greg says softly, and John's gaze flies to him. He still looks confused and disoriented, so Greg closes the remaining distance and presses a gentle hand to John's shoulder.

"It's alright, John."

John lets out a shudder and sits up properly, burying his head in his hands. Greg can feel him trembling, and he makes a point of ignoring the sound of John trying to control his tears.

"Fuck," John curses, hitting his forehead against his hands.

"It's okay," Greg murmurs, squeezing his shoulder.

John throws his head back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He is still breathing heavily as he tries to get himself back under control.

"Did I wake you?" John finally asks, sounding thoroughly miserable.

"No," Greg lies. 

John sniffs, and scrubs his hand across his face. "Shit, I knew this was going to happen."

Greg says nothing, but his fingers twitch against John's shoulder. 

"God, what time is it?"

"Dunno. Around six?"

John smooths a hand over his hair. "I might as well get up."

"I'll make some tea."

"You really don't have to."

"It's alright, I'm up now. I've got to be down the local police station early anyway."

Greg gives John's shoulder one last squeeze, then slips away to find some of the complimentary teabags.

"Greg?" John calls.

"Yeah?" He looks back at John.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," Greg says with a small smile, then turns back to make tea.


End file.
